


Squeezit, The Chicken Boy

by fromunderthegaytree



Category: Forbidden Zone (1980)
Genre: F/M, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-26 00:21:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15651939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromunderthegaytree/pseuds/fromunderthegaytree
Summary: There’s no Forbidden Zone fanfics so ok here.





	Squeezit, The Chicken Boy

It’s a common known fact that chickens are pathetic creatures. They’re right there next to the naked mole-rat and mosquitoes.

Only loved when they’re useful. Little kids love them because they can rub their grubby little hands over its feathers. Adults love them because they taste delicious in a coq au vin. Chickens are pretty damn useless when they’re not in a petting zoo or on your plate.

Except that’s how Squeezit Henderson feels. Being able to communicate with them was never a gift to him. If God really liked him, he would’ve sent him down to earth with psychic powers and super strength; being the epitome of a human chicken is a practical joke, not a gift. Worst part is, he didn’t dare be anything other than ‘chicken boy’.

At school, he never joined any sports team. Who would want a crouching foureyes pitching for baseball? You can bet your sweet ass nobody did. Aside from the lack of athleticism, he was repulsive when it came to girls. All of it. All of the side effects of being chicken boy never bothered him.

Until he entered the Forbidden Zone. When he handed the princess over to Satan, followed through a beheading, he saw things differently.

Now, it’s all he can think about. In his dreams, he relives those days at school. Nothing changes in those dreams, the same kids laugh at him, push him and ridicule him. The only change is that Squeezit is elevated from that blissful ignorance from before. He knows he’s the butt of their many jokes. For the first time ever, he really likes a girl.

Even without a body, he feels a phantom one. Butterflies flutter within his stomach, though it’s not there. His heart palpitates, he breaks out into goosebumps, his limbs tingle… somehow. Even if it’s a trick of his mind, it drives him off the walls.

Usually, he’s very calm but imagining that red-haired devil holding hands with her… it ails him. When he thinks these thoughts, he seethes, saliva frothing at his mouth; as though he was an apex predator, not a chicken.

The first person Squeezit confides in about this crush is Frenchy. When he arrives, Fausto’s preoccupied as he sits on his throne. A cigar hangs from his teeth, smoke rising into the air sporadically. He’s speaking to Frenchy about an urgent matter, a stone cold serious mien.

The wings on the side of Squeezit’s head propels him up the steps. The royal pair pay him no mind, continuing their bickering. “We have to do it now.” Fausto says, chopping the air as he says ‘now’, making it clear that whether they’re talking about is urgent. “There’s no time to wait.” He tells his wife.

With a roll of her eyes, she sighs. She’s impatient with Fausto, in a different way than the prior Queen. She finds these antics childish rather than threatening. “Rule the world… Oh, Fausto…” She demonstrates her exasperation by lifting her hand to her forehead. “Can’t we wait? S’il-vous-plait, mon chou.”

His mouth purses, frustrated as all hell but compliant. “One of the twins is here.” He gestured towards the disembodied head right before their feet. He stares up at them, his lips quivering in awe and fear. Obviously, they were his superior, not to mention, they could punt him like a football if they wanted to.

“Frenchy, Fausto.” He addresses, nodding his head in both of their directions. “Can I talk to Frenchy?” Fausto nods, his cool face covered by a sheet of smoke. “Alone.” Squeezit adds, quickly following with, “please, sir.” Even with a friend as a Queen, he couldn’t help but ass kiss.

Skepticism contorts Fausto’s face, his eyes narrowing into slits and his jaw clenching. “...Why?” There has to be an obvious secret being pulled being his back. What if they were planning on stopping him.

Frenchy reassures him, “it will only take a minute, I promise.” She clasps her hands together, sending waves of reassurance to her beloved.

Her face contorts into a smile which one would see on a wax figure. A similar smile, if you didn’t look hard enough, you wouldn’t suspect any difference. This smile was placid like her usual one but much more uncanny. To Fausto, it’s all the same. Maybe he’s got little to no perception or maybe he’s suspended in his own thoughts of war. War against the universe, that is.

He stands up, looking down at Squeezit. He hasn’t forgotten that this beheaded worm was the boy who saved his daughter. He’s too impotent to be able to smash his head like a pumpkin.

“Henderson.” He addresses, bowing his head forward before walking past him. Squeezit doesn’t dare turn around and watch him leave. It’s either the lack of legs or his fears which keeps him in his place.

“What’s wrong?” Asks Frenchy, reclining in her throne. Even with a crown on her head, she’s the same: a dime. With heads on one side, she’s compassionate and gentle but flip the coin, she’s a viper. This two-sided personality she owns makes her the ideal person to speak with.

Heaving a sigh, Squeezit flies up onto the arm of her chair. She watches him, frowning even if everyone knew that Squeezit Henderson is the most miserable creature alive.

“Promise you won’t get mad?” He asks, ripping the frown off her face to reveal genuine concern. She goes pale, making her dark hair look like night against a paper complexion. With hesitance, she nods. Her chin rising and dropping.

“I like the… Princess.” He whispers almost inaudibly, forcing the Queen to lip-read from his black-cadaver lips. He stares at her, awaiting her response with dread weighing on him. She takes a few seconds to gather her thoughts before she articulates her disbelief.

“Her?” What was so hard to understand about liking the princess? To Frenchy, this unrequited romance was forbidden. “But… Squeezit, you can’t! You cannot!” That authoritative tone she picked up at her crowning arises.

“Why? Fausto wants his daughter to be with the Devil?”

“That’s the point. That deal you made is saving us all. That whore of a Queen would have killed us all if you didn’t!” She explains, though the Queen was dead, who would want to mess with the wrath of Satan?

“It’s not fair! I understand… But I’m the guy without a head. I’m still Chicken Boy.” After all that’s happened, he was the one at the short end of the stick. The one without anything but a decapitated head. Frenchy didn’t get it and he didn’t expect her to.

“Squeezit, you are not just ‘Chicken Boy’.” She reached out, cradling his cheek with a sympathetic smile. “You saved my life. You saved your sister, and my brother, and my grandfather…”

Slowly, his eyes cast down. Was this true? Was he really the saviour she was making him out to be? Was he more than just, well, chicken boy? He never considered it but it began to fit in place. Like a puzzle in his mind. If he hadn’t done that deal with Satan, they wouldn’t be here.

“You’re a hero.”


End file.
